Logical Conclusions
by Fiore Di Fenice
Summary: Alice discovers a room in the windmill that proves difficult to argue with, and things become complicated on the Hatter's end. The story's better than the summary, I assure you.
1. The Thinking Room

Alice sat in her favorite chair in all of the windmill. It surpassed the entirely comfortable loveseat, though the chair itself wasn't all that comfortable, or comforting, for that matter. It even won her over against the plush armchair that sat next to the largest bookcase she had ever seen, its shelves filled to overflowing with books written in Nonsense and Outlandish. No, neither of these chairs Alice enjoyed more than the one she sat in at the moment. It was the one next to the Hatter's chair, and that was enough to content her to choose it over the most elegant and the most comfortable in their home.

On this particular evening, everything in Underland seemed to slow down in anticipation for the night. (It may not have been so, however, for Time was a tricky fellow, liable to run fast or slow as the notion struck him.) Even the March Hare was less twitchy and sat remarkably still at the table where the small group gathered daily at tea-time. Why Thackery decided to remain at the table well past the ending of the tea party, Alice didn't have a clue, but it was just as well- as long as he was out _there_, he wouldn't be inside, wrecking the interior of the windmill. The Dormouse, Mallymkun, was nowhere to be seen, and that was fine with Alice as well. Mally had never grown fond of Alice since she took Tarrant's attention quite frequently, though it was not her fault. Tarrant adored Alice, doted on her, and gave in easily to her whims, no matter how silly they may be. Being mad didn't harm that giving-in, but Alice never minded his madness. It was endearing, of sorts, and she found she rather enjoyed his child-like innocence.

She grew a bit bored and restless, just sitting and thinking. She usually was content to sit and think, or stand and think, or even lie and think, but this day was not a Thinking Day, apparently. Today was a Doing Day. What was she to be Doing, she wondered to Herself. Should she go visit Queen Mirana in Mamoreal? No, much too late for that, Alice argued with Herself. What about Chessur? Surely he could use some company. No, no, Herself said. If the Cat wanted company, he would come and visit. Alice sighed and bid Herself goodbye. Goodness, she thought. She was becoming as mad as...

The Hatter! Yes, that is what she could do. She could go find Tarrant and see what he was doing this evening. With that cheerful thought in mind, she found Herself again and the two set on their way through the windmill to find their dear friend.

The first room Alice came to was the kitchen that adjoined the sitting room. Pots, pans, and various cookery were strewn about everywhere: in the floor, on the table, on the oven, in the breadbox; seemingly everywhere _but_ in the cabinets. Knives were jammed into the wall on all sides, from Thackery and Mallymkun's games of Who Could Make A Bigger Mess and a curious form of what Alice would guess was catch, but with hot metal eating utensils and a porcupine. There were plenty of creatures crawling cordially (Three C words, she must remember to tell Hatter!) around her feet and some daring to crawl on them, but no Mad Hatters among the crowd. Alice shook off the creeping things and stepped out of the kitchen into a hallway that led to many rooms, most of which changed themselves many times a week to avoid Sameness. The first room held a piano-forte, which would have been tempting, if not for the giant spider sitting on the bench and playing a tune that Alice had never heard before. She closed that door to let the spider alone, lest it tire of insects and desire to have her for its meal. Across the hall, at least five doors were locked, and three were completely without a keyhole that could be seen. Sometimes the Doors played tricks on the inhabitants of the windmill, just to prove to themselves that they had Importance, too. The blonde gave up on those that were locked, deciding not to provoke them into declaring House Arrest.

Suddenly, a rumbling began deep within the walls of the hallway, as it sometimes did. It grew in volume until Alice felt that the entire structure was surely going to come down around her head. Poor Hatter wouldn't know where she was, and he would be _so_ worried... Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped, and a door to her far right creaked open. Alice, with all her muchness and curiosity, drew silently closer to the door, hoping to glimpse inside without the What that was inside glimpsing her. Much to her surprise and disappointment, the room was empty, and Alice sighed and made to shut the door. Before she touched the handle, however, a strange feeling of pulling overwhelmed her and immediately found herself inside the now-shut room, hanging by seemingly nothing but her feet from the ceiling.

"Oh dear," Alice said to herself. "However shall I get down?"

"Do you mean, however shall you get _up_?" came a voice.

Alice looked all around her, the golden locks swaying with the movement, but was unable to tell from what or who the words had come from. "Who is speaking?" she called out.

"I am who I am."

"But who _are_ you?"

"You are the one who barged into my room, are you not? So who are _you_ to be asking _me_ questions?"

"I wouldn't need to ask you questions, if you would only answer mine!"

"I answered your question, stupid girl. I am who I am, which is me. Now _who are you_?"

Alice bristled at being called "stupid", especially by an unnamed, unknown voice. "I _didn't_ barge in, the room pulled me in!" she explained with an air of annoyance.

"Nonsense. I have never seen this room to have arms of any sort, and even if it did, I am _quite_ sure that it could neither push nor pull. You're telling tales."

"I am not!" cried Alice indignantly.

"Do you have _proof_ that this room pulled you in?"

"I'm hanging here, aren't I?"

"How do I know that you simply didn't walk in and plant yourself upon the floor?"

"The _floor_?" questioned a very confused Alice. "I was under the impression that I was on the ceiling."

"You _are_ quite stupid, aren't you? If it was the ceiling, you would not be able to stand so, would you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not."

"You suppose not?" the voice mocked. "Are you unaware of your current state of being? You certainly _are_ stupid, then. If you are standing, which youa re, and youa re not falling, which you aren't, then _logically_, you are on the floor, and not the ceiling- do you follow?"

"Of course I do," answered the other heatedly.

"Very well then, you would agree that you are standing on the floor of this room, and not the ceiling, correct?"

"Yes... I mean, no... I mean... Why am I upside-down, if I am on the floor?"

"How do you know that you are not right-side up?"

"I can see my hair hanging toward the floor- I mean, the ceiling- and hair does not normally hang _up_."

"Are you sure it's hanging up? Looks like it's hanging _down_ to me."

"It is, but if I'm on the floor, then it's hanging up!"

"There is no law stating the floor can't be the ceiling and the ceiling the floor. Stupid _and_ narrow-minded," the voice concluded.

Alice huffed and crossed her arms. This was becoming quite annoying and she very much wanted to leave the room. She could not find the door, however, no matter where she searched- which wasn't much, considering the entire room was empty, save the chandelier. Alice sat and glared at a wall, hoping whoever was inside the room with her could somehow feel the heat from her eyes.

After a long silence, the quiet grew loud and drove Alice mad, so to speak. "Where am I?" she finally asked.

"You are here," came the answer.

"But _where_ is here?"

"Where you are."

A different approach may work better, Alice thought. "Am I still in the windmill?"

"Yes."

Satisfied that she had finally gotten a straight answer from the speaker, she grew silent again, until she asked, "Does the Hatter know of this room?"

"Yes, the Hatter knows. He was the one who built it, you know." This was stated matter-of-factly, and it caught Alice off-guard.

"He built this?"

"Are you deaf? Are you dumb? I told you the answer before you asked the question, yet you asked anyway. Do you have a complex?"

"I most certainly do _not_ have a complex!"

"That is yet to be determined, I believe."

"_Why_ did Hatter build this?"

"To gather Thoughts. They like to run around and cause chaos, but here one can gather his thoughts, if he has a two to help him place them in a cargo box."

"A cargo box?"

"For the Train."

"Wherever do you find a train in Underland? Wherever do you find a train in the _windmill_?"

"You don't, it finds you. It's easily lost, however, if you don't concentrate on gathering Thoughts."

"How do you know which Thoughts are yours?" inquired Alice.

"By their lullabies. Wouldn't _you_ know if it was your Thought once you've slept a good night on it?"

Alice found herself lost for a reply, because she couldn't say she had never slept on a thought before. So she remained brooding next to the chandelier, wishing Tarrant would find her. Then she had an idea. "Can I see the Thoughts that Hatter has gathered?"

Nothing was spoken, but the room began to glow and images swirled around her, ghosts of memories, thoughts, and wishes all jumbled together. They sped by, voices mingling in discord, until Alice couldn't take any more and shouted, "Stop!" Immediately, everything stopped, and all was quiet. Alice walked and viewed in detail the stilled images.

Most of the older memories, which had a darker ring of colour around them, contained tea parties, endless tea parties. The more recent memories contained her, which had a sort of golden ring about them. The thoughts contained her as well, and these dated from her first visit to just yesterday: she found an image of her pouring tea, and as she grew closer to the picture, she could hear the words, "Alice looks quite lovely today." Walking along the lines of thoughts, the sounds rose in volume.

"I wonder what Alice is doing today?"  
"Hm... maybe she'll like _this..."  
_"What if she wants to go back to the Aboveland? What will I do then?"  
"I _do_ wish Mallymkun would stop being so jealous..."

She was surprised to find that most of his thoughts revolved around her. Then she came to a strange-looking memory, and stopped. It was her, sleeping in her bedroom, the sheets tangled against her body. She thought that maybe this one was mute, until she heard the thought: "She'll never know... she must not! After all, she wouldn't... couldn't! I'm simply a madman... and she's so Alice... I do so lo-"

Before this thought could run its course, everything grew dark and she felt the previous sensation of being pulled. Everything remained black, and she heard a door slam- in anger or frustration, she couldn't tell. Instantly, she felt herself being pulled again, but this time swiftly, by a pair of calloused hands. By the creaking of the wooden floor, she could tell she was again in the hallway of the windmill, and she also had a feeling that she had finally found the Hatter, or rather, the Hatter found her. The two stopped and and another door was opened. No lights were turned on however, and she felt herself being led inside the room. She was picked up, causing an "Ex_cuse_ me, what are you doing?" to emerge from her mouth, but no answer came from the other. Alice was set surprisingly gently down on to what she felt was a bed. Tarrant didn't join her, nor did he move from the spot in which he was standing. The only sound in the room that Alice could hear was the sound of her own soft breaths and his louder, more agitated ones.

Finally, he spoke. "Why?"

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and replied quietly, "Why what?"

"Tell me why you were in _that_ room, looking at _my_ thoughts!" he shouted angrily.

Alice flinched, and said, "I was looking for you, and it pulled me in, and-"

"_What_ pulled you in?" the Hatter interrupted.

"The room," she answered, and continued, "And it began being quite contrary to my ventures on how to get out of it, and I couldn't find the door, and I just... It said you made the room for Thought-gathering, and I was curious..." She didn't like her friend's anger, especially when directed towards her, and she felt as if she was going to cry by the end of her rambling.

Tarrant noticed this, by way of her voice slightly breaking on the word "curious", and felt his anger dissapate in the threat of Alice crying. He had made her cry only once before on accident (and had learned about something horrible called PMS that women had in the Aboveland). The Hatter had apologized profusely for days, even though Alice had forgiven him shortly after she had cried. This, though... this was different. This would be his own fault, not that horrid Aboveland-disease, or whatever it was. He sighed and sat next to her on his bed. He wondered briefly if it was a good idea to have brought her to his bedroom, but it was the closest unlocked room to his Thinking Room in the hallway that Mallymkun and Thackery couldn't enter. Tarrant sighed and asked the inevitable question, "What did you hear?"

Alice seemed unwilling to answer, but hesitantly said, "Mostly things about me."

"What kind of things?"

"Just simple thoughts, I suppose." Unable to stop herself, she added, "There was one memory of you watching me sleep, and you pulled me out of the room before I could hear the rest of the thought."

His body stiffened. Alice panicked at this, thinking he was upset again, especially when he got up off of the bed. It seemed an eternity, but the Hatter finally found the lamp and lit it. He rejoined Alice on the bed, and her eyes widened when she took in the state of his own. Green, gray, blue, red, gold, and black dotted and swirled inside of his eyes. So many emotions, so many thoughts clouded them, that she didn't know what to say. In an impulse that later she would wonder where exactly it came from, Alice wrapped her arms around the man's neck and held herself there. The panicked note in the half-maddened man's mind fell away to a quiet melody that soothed him and he almost felt... happy. Content.

His own arms came around her waist and stayed of their own accord, much to his surprise. "Do you remember," he began softly, as to not harm the melody that played inside his head, "when you were about to drink the Jabberwocky's blood so long ago, and I asked you to stay. Do you remember what you said?"

"I said, 'What a crazy, mad, wonderful idea'."

"Exactly. Do you know why I asked that crazy, mad, _wonderful_ idea?" What was he saying? Why was this coming from his throat? Maybe it was the melody causing him to say it. _Shut up, go away!_

Alice pulled back to look in his face, but kept her arms on his shoulders. His were still around her, as if he wasn't going to let go. "No."

_Shut it, you're going to say it! Shut up shut up shut up shut up! _"Alice Kingsleigh, I... I..." he faltered, unable to remember the word. Lose, loathe, ladle... it started with an L, he knew. He let his head fall, and couldn't bring himself to look at her, for fear of her condemnation- much like a child caught taking a cookie by his mother.

"Tarrant Hightopp," she began, feeling the name fall comfortably from her lips, even though she had never spoken his real name out loud, "you are the most mad, wonderful, honest, innocent, adoring man that I have ever known. I'll tell you a secret." And with this she brought her lips to his ear and whispered, "You're perfect."

Tarrant could feel his smile fall, just a bit. She didn't love (_now_ he thought of the word, and the realization that it was too late to say it caused a shred of bitterness to slice into his contentment) him, or see that he loved her, but this was enough for now. As long as she was at Witzend with him, it was enough. After all, it wouldn't be logical should she love (another bitter strip making him bleed) him. The Thinking Room said it was so, and the Room couldn't lie. (But when did the Hatter ever pay attention to logic?) And so he sat, holding Underland's oblivious Champion, hoping that someday, he could find his own Logical Solution to all of this.

Alice, however, wasn't privvy to these thoughts of Tarrant's, and she only felt the warmth from the embrace, and her own feelings toward the Hatter. Friendship, certainly. There was a close bond between them, one that neither of them could be without. There was something else, too... something stronger... something that she was going to shove into the back of her mind and keep it there, until such time that she felt the need to explore it. It wasn't Logic, this feeling, and it worried her. This worry bit into the hug and caused her to give Tarrant a quick peck on the cheek and release him, mumbling something about sleep. "Goodnight," she called as she retreated from the room. Tarrant watched her go, and listened as her footsteps faded.

"Goodnight," he said, more to himself than to the ghost of her that seemed to remain in the room. "I love you."


	2. Uninvited Guests

**A/N: _So_ much credit for this goes to the EPIC Jess (miss red rose jess. deviantart .com [remove the spaces]- go check out her gallery, it's great, like her!) who kicked me out of writer's block when I was so totally stuck at times. Part of this is hers as well as mine, so credit goes where credit is due. Sisters got to stick together, right?**

**Also, a HUGE "thank you" to everyone who reviewed the first chapter and added this story to their alerts! You can't imagine how much you guys rock!**

**Anyway, here is the short second chapter to Logical Conclusions. I wasn't really planning on writing this, so if you want a third chapter, I'll need reviews aplenty to keep me writing, or it may end here with loads of Hatter angst! *hint, hint* **

**And no one wants poor Tarrant to stay in such a state, I should hope. (...Wait, what? You there, in the corner. Yes, you- no wait, you to their left... no the _other_ left. Yes, you. You want him sad? Shame on you. That's all I can say.)**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**~Leiary**

Ever since the night Alice had gotten herself trapped in the Thinking Room, Tarrant found her quieter than normal. Not that she was loud before, not at all. But she seemed... oh, what was the word? Pear, pent, pen... pensive! Yes, that was the word. Pensive. He also noticed that she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes at teatime anymore. Where there was Nothing hiding between them before, Something had woven its way into the bond they had shared prior to that eve.

Tarrant laid on his bed, thinking these Thoughts, as he had for the past... how long had it been since the Silence planted itself in the windmill? A week? Longer? The Hatter was no longer sure. Nevertheless, Nothing had been very rudely interrupted by Something, and the Hatter was unsure of which one was to stay. So far, he did not like it. It made his Alice turn into a very different Alice, much like the one she had been before she got her muchness back.

The Hatter hated Change. He also hated the NewOld Alice. Most of all, though, he hated Silence. It invited Discomfort and Fear to reside in the windmill, both of which he hated almost as much as Silence. They were all uninvited and he wished they wouldn't take up space where they weren't wanted. It was maddening, even to someone as mad as himself!

He found himself wondering what Alice was doing, right that very moment. Was she laying on her bed as well, thinking Thoughts about him as he was of her? Did she ever think about him, he wondered. And if she did, what did she think? Did she think of Things that she Should Be Thinking Of, or did she think of those Bad Things that he had heard the Red Queen _dowhn wit teh bluidy bigh head _did with the insufferable Knave of hers from the rumors around Mamoreal... NO No no, Alice was _Alice_, she was too _her_ to think Things like that, even if he _did_ sometimes wonder... But no, he must not, must _not_, think of Things He Could Do With Alice. Even though he was half-mad, he still had a shred of sanity, and with that sanity came Courtesy, and Things of the like. The Hatter could feel himself slipping into madness with his inner rambling. In his mind's voice, he could hear Alice laugh (such a lovely laugh she had!) and tell him very kindly that yes, she would like tea, and no, no sugar today, thank you. The voice changed, and she told him that all the best people are mad, and he was... perfect.

An unconscious scowl crept on Tarrant's face with that single word. Perfect, indeed. It brought back the Images he had been trying so very hard to get rid of, the ones where he had almost told her he loved her, and she had run from the room... from him.

Of course she would run from him, though, of course she would run. He _was_ mad, partially or otherwise. Underland's Champion, holding a madman? Logic had nothing of the sort in his eyes, the Hatter supposed. Logic must have crept into Alice's ears and whispered for her to run when they weren't looking, the devil that he was. Murdering Time? Let Time alone, give him Logic... Tarrant gave an audible bark of a laugh at the thought, a bitter thing that tasted of old tea with a hint of Self Pity and a splash of Depression.

Yes, Underland's resident lunatic was depressed: depressed because he couldn't tell Alice what should be so clearly obvious; depressed because he didn't know how long the three Uninvited Guests would make their presence known in his home; depressed because _W__hy in the bloody name of Underland was a raven like a writing desk_? he didn't know how to fix what his Thoughts had caused.

Why, oh why, of all the rooms she had gotten stuck in, _why_ did it have to be the Thinking Room? It seemed that Fate was mocking him, making him lose what was most dear to him. It seemed like something Fate would do. Maybe Fate and Time had a conspiracy against him now. Whatever did he do to Fate though? He may have murdered Time, but... Oh dear, he must have tempted Fate, then. Yes, yes, he remembered now, Fate and Time had always been close friends. Even when Tarrant was a wee little Hightopp, he remembered the two would go hand-in-hand. Oh, the stories they would tell! The one about the poor Dodo stuck in a well was his favorite. Let's see, how did it go again? Once a Dodo wished for treacle and the only way to acquire it was through a certain well in the Outlands... _Hatter!_ He could hear Alice say his name patiently, and it brought him back to the not-so-pleasant present.

"I'm fine," he choked out quietly, and not just because he was returning to his senses. It's awfully hard to speak and weep at the same time, the Hatter faintly mused, as he turned over in the darkness of his bedroom, hoping that the entire business would be resolved soon.

As simply as a Mad Hatter can put it, he missed his Alice.


	3. Mad Impulses

**A/N: Thanks again to Jess, and this time to Isaac (you know who you are!), who both helped me from the terrible confines of Writer's Block. I swear, I don't know what kind of an author I'd be without my wonderful friends!**

**Sorry for the long update wait! This story is being difficult and putting me through all kinds of torture. But with a little coaxing, I got it to cooperate long enough to where I have it almost finished. *fanfare* Thank you to all those who have reviewed/story alerted/favorited this! You guys give me a reason to continue this, besides for my own amusement- in which case, this would never get done, haha!**

**Anywho, chapter three for your viewing pleasure. The last chapter is next, so be on your toes- I may or may not be nice depending on the reviews *insert evil laugh here*.**

**Fairfarren, all~**

**~Leiary **

Alice sat in the chair next to the bookcase, trying to make sense out of the book she was attempting to read. It was written in Outlandish and she was attempting the difficult task of trying to decipher the meanings. She sighed and mentally went through a list of Underlanders she knew that could teach her to read it. There was Mallymkun, of course, who was part of the Resistance when there needed to be one, but alas, she had never once shown a kind word to Alice since the blonde had returned to Underland five years after slaying the Jabberwocky and drinking a vial of the animal's blood. (She had settled her father's company with Lord Ascot in those five years, took a trip to China and made the journey back in one peice, told her mother and sister goodbye, told Hamish just _where_ he could stick his proposal after he had tried, once again, to marry her, and made the trip back to Underland through the rabbit hole thanks to a certain White Rabbit, who also helped her regain her memory- all to be stumped by a simple book!) There was also Thackery, but she doubted he would make a very good teacher. Mirana would surely know, but she was the Queen- too busy with reigning over her kingdom. Then there was... With a sigh, Alice shoved the book back into its place on the fourth shelf of the bookcase and pouted in the chair.

Alice was confused by the entire situation. The embrace- the _hug_, she corrected herself (the word "embrace" had _far_ too strong a meaning attached to it)- was only friendly. One friend giving support to another. Completely harmless. So why had she ran from the room over a small exchange of friendship? Not only was she aggravated at Tarrant (this was somehow his fault, she just knew it), she was aggravated at herself, as well. There had been no reason for her to have acted as a frightened doe when confronted by a predator. The Hatter was no predator, and she firmly told herself she was _not_ a doe. Alice sunk farther into the cushions of the armchair, wishing they could swallow her up and she could hide until everything was right again.

Something was terribly different. She could feel it in the air in the once-happy windmill, and she could feel it in Tarrant's silence as he simply passed by her daily, not making conversation as he used to. During tea parties, which were becoming less frequent as Time went on slower and slower, even Mallymkun and Thackery were silent except for the sipping of tea and the occasional sigh from the despondant milliner. Alice didn't know what to do. She instinctively knew that it was _she_ that was causing this but didn't know why or how. It seemed that ever since she had been sucked into the Thinking Room, the windmill had changed from being her personal rainbow to the bleak gray that her life in London had been. _What if it should remain this way?_ she suddenly thought in horror. Jolting upright onto her feet, she swiftly carried herself to what she remembered to be the Hatter's door and knocked, hoping fervently that the rooms hadn't moved themselves around yet. She heard a grunt and then a low "Be off wi' ye!"

"Hat- Tarrant?" she tentatively called through the door. "It's me."

The Hatter, who had been in the process of finding something suitable to throw at the door, dropped the kerosine lamp he was contemplating, causing jagged peices of glass to spray across the wooden floor. The shards twinkled menacingly in the glow of the second lamp he kept on his nightstand, for a purpose such as this. Stepping around the malignant devils, he finally stopped in front of his door, where on the other side stood Alice. "Wha' d'ye want, lass?" he said, hoarse and rough in the Scottish brogue.

"I want... I want to apologize," came the answer, and Tarrant wished he had another lamp to drop in his surprise.

"Apologize? Wha' fer?"

"For being silly, and intrusive, and ... me," she finished meekly. Slowly, the door opened to reveal a black-eyed, morose-looking Tarrant. Before she could decide what she should do next, the Hatter began muttering darkly to himself, pacing the small area of the doorway. When he started slamming his fist into the post, however, was when Alice's instincts took over. Grabbing ahold of his arms, she spun him to face her. "Tarrant Hightopp! Whatever is the matter with you?" His eyes turned from black to brown, from brown to red, from red to purple, from purple to blue, and finally from blue to green, yet a very sick-looking green, as if his eyes didn't like what his brain held. "You are," he whispered sadly, looking like he had revealed some great secret.

"Me?" asked Alice. "What have I got to do with-" she began, then was cut off as he grabbed her hand and led her purposefully through the hall, leaving his bedroom door wide open. Tarrant wasn't going to live with this form of his madness any longer. Should he try, he was absolutely sure that he wouldn't be able to think coherently at all for the rest of his days, which were quite long in Underland. Practically forever. And forever was _such_ a long time to have to live with the fact that Alice Kingsleigh had become his Sanity. But for her to not _realize_ this was criminal! He couldn't stand it any longer. The still-rational part (however small it was) of his brain was screaming for him to stop, that this was _madness_. The other part, the tea-addicted, Futterwacking, _positively Underlandian_ part, of his brain said that he _was_ the _Mad_ Hatter, after all. Why not live up to the name?

Before he pulled her through the door to the Thinking Room, he heard her mumble, "Oh, joy. Round two." Smiling in half-amusement and half-determination to make himself _truly_ go through with this Impulse of his, he shut the door and the room slowly faded to black.


	4. 360 Degrees

**A/N: The path for this chapter came from the awesome song "Savior" by Lights. The lines "Are we denying a crisis/or are we scared of admitting it?" were particularly inspirational. I felt that this was fitting for Alice's character in Burton's Underland. She may have recovered her muchness when she slayed the Jabberwocky, but we all slip and lose our muchness sometimes, don't we? _Especially_ when confronted with something extremely important. So without further ado, chapter four. Thank you to everyone who read it for putting up with it, and I hope I don't get shot for this, heheh. (Side note: Isaac, if I go down, I'm taking you with me. *nods* )**

Alice found herself once again in the Thinking Room, but this time accompanied by Tarrant. She expected to hear the snarky voice of the Room again, but strangely, it remained silent, as if Silence itself was listening and watching for what was to come. All was quietly dark for a few minutes, until she heard her companion take a deep breath, as if he was trying to pull the air to the very depths of his body. As the breath was let out slowly, the room began to lighten with multicolored hues, light and dark mingling to make a jumbled mess all around them. Swirling faster and faster, the Thoughts and Memories encased the whole of the room until Alice felt as if she were being pressed upon, and a bout of claustrophobia gripped her. Tarrant must have sensed this, for everything halted abruptly. Taking her by the arm and gently escorting her through the mess of voices and images, he brought her to stand before one and wordlessly gestured for her to view it, his eyes glowing gray from the light coming from the scene. Recognizing it for the one that he himself had interrupted during her first "visit" to the room, she leaned in closer to the Memory until the Thoughts were whispering to her. "She'll never know... she must not! After all, she wouldn't... couldn't! I'm simply a madman... and she's so Alice... I do so love her... if only she could..." The Thought faded out as Tarrant pulled her hesitantly from the Memory, the Alice in it still tangled in the bedsheets. The present Alice, however, only wished that she could grasp the concept that _he_ _loved_ _her_ and she had not known. She had not known, but now she did. He _loved_ her...

She turned to face the one who loved her (She had no reason to disprove this- Tarrant had said so himself, the Room never lied.) and softly, she said, "Tarrant."

Keeping his eyes to the floor, he said, "Alice." He had done it, he had _actually_ done it. _She knows, she knows, she knows_, replayed in his head like Thackery's broken records in the yard beside the tea table. With an acute feeling of dread, he played with the end of his neck-tie, for something to do with his hands.

"You love me." It wasn't a question; it was more of a declaration of fact. She was looking for an affirmation.

"Yes."

"How long...?"

"I don't know."

"Tarrant?"

"Yes?" he croaked.

"I'm not... I... I love you, Tarrant-" she stammered, and with that a fantasy that had been lurking in the edges of his mind came to focus, unbidden. A scene with Alice and he, a garden, a ring; then a flurry of white and black and vows to be said; an extra seat sat between his and Alice's chairs at the tea table, with a child sitting between them: a mess of orange hair and brown eyes and high pitched laughter- "but nothing more than a dear friend."

That small Hope that had risen in him died a quick and painful death at those seven simple words. Seven words begat the Hope, and seven words killed it. Seemed fitting. Proper, even. "I see," he said, his voice quivering. They found themselves walking together out of the room- Tarrant's posture looking positively downtrodden- then lingering in the hallway. "I suppose... I'll go to bed..." he trailed off, thoroughly melancholy, yet determined in his own way not to let Alice see just how deeply she had cut him. Rejection surged through his every pore, making his heart break, and the smile he pasted on his lips as he gave Alice a parting goodnight seemed sickly and wrong.

Alice stood in the same spot for the longest time after she heard Tarrant close his door. Even when she heard the second kerosine lamp, among other items, shatter, she remained in the hallway. It wasn't until her legs gave way under her that she let herself contemplate what she had just done.

She had been frightened. So she had figuratively run far away from the windmill, as was her habit.

But Alice wondered, as she lay on the cold wooden floor, now that she'd run from the crisis and everything was different...

...Could she ever find her way back?

**A/N: It's 1:55 A.M., give me a break- and some coffee, if you'll take pity on this insomniac. I don't think I'll be writing more to this (However, I didn't mean for it to originally have chapters, either...) so I'm going to end it here and leave the rest up to your collective imaginations. **

**Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks again for reading- you all are beautiful! ;)**

**May you have a serving of sweet tea with a side of a happier Hatter,**

**~Leiary.**


	5. A Late Reunion

**A/N: Due to various demands from multiple reviewers, I have been held at gunpoint and forced to continue to write (metaphorically). I hold this story in great contempt, but Inspiration, in its all-knowing way, has smacked me in the back of the head and screamed, "WRITE!"**

**A gigantous "Thank you so much!" goes out to Will and Jessica, who helped me prod my way through the fog that became this chapter. Also to the writer ****Jasper Winked****, who was a voice of support in a chorus of negativity and flames (that were used to bake an awesome funfetti cake in, by the way. Hate tastes so much better than love, don't you agree?), to whom will recieve by means of a certain white rabbit, a fabulous slice of cake with a cup of tea, and a much lovlier Tarrant than the one depicted here for her personal entertainment. Enjoy, dear. ;)**

**So here is another emo-esque chapter for the viewing (dis)pleasure (Depends on who you are!) of the general fanfiction community. This is mainly a filler chapter, so yes, there shall be another. **

**With loads of writing angst,**

**~Leiary.**

Mamoreal, with all its splendor and snow-white beauty, was quite blocked from Tarrant's view. Not in actuality, of course, but the poor hatter had obstructed sight, for wherever he looked, he could see a corporeal form of Alice's rejection. It was there when he was busily making hats for Queen Mirana. It was there during his tea breaks in the royal dining hall. It was especially there in the guest room that he occupied in the castle now, unable to return to the windmill to face her and have Rejection mock him to his face. At least this way, it only mildly tugged at his chest and stood a distance off- much more manageable that way.

Tarrant gloomily sighed and hung his head in shame. He had become a creature that he once accused Alice of being, one that had lost his muchness. It seemed to him that it was irreparable, this loss of his muchness. Never before, not even when his entire clan had been decimated in front of his very eyes, burned to nothingness by the juggernaut that was the Jabberwock, had the Mad Hatter ever felt more alone and more despondant. This was painfully apparent to Queen Mirana, who felt a dark cloud looming over her miliner's head as he went through the motions of a regular workday in Underland's highest court. This was the motive behind the queen's current late-night visit to the Hatter's abode: to shoo the cloud. She stood in the doorway, as regal and fluid in stillness as she was in movement. "Tarrant?" Her voice was spoken as a musical sigh, heavy with sadness and compassion for the man. Tarrant gave no indication that he was listening, yet Mirana knew that he was alert. "Tarrant," she repeated, and this time her voice sang with a subtle order. Wearily, the other lifted his head the tiniest bit. "I know that you are in deep despair," she began, and took a breath before continuing to gather herself. "However, I must inform you that you cannot continue on in such a manner. It is not healthy. No potion of my own making can restore what you have lost in the wake of recent events. It is only _you_ that can repair yourself- you and Alice." Walking to his side in the dark room where he sat in a overstuffed white chair, she placed a feather-light hand on his drooping shoulder. "You've run from this for far too long, Tarrant."

"Running hae done me nae good, has't?" he asked, his voice coarse from misuse.

"No," came the gentle answer.

"I dinnae think so."

"Come," beckoned Mirana, walking from the room and gesturing for Tarrant to follow. Without hesitation, he complied. They made their way through the long hallway, their footsteps _clacking_ with a short echo against the cold marble floor. Mirana made a left turn into an archway that led into a sitting room. The room held an ivory pianoforte by two large windows overlooking a pale-coloured garden. On a plump pale sofa sat Alice, who was looking quite sorrowful indeed, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. She took no notice of the two that stepped into the room; she was obviously deep within her own mind. Tarrant, for the first time that evening, looked to his Queen for guidance. Wordlessly, she motioned for him to sit down beside of Alice. Sighing deeply, he did so. Alice still had not broken from her private reverie.

As the Hatter tried his very best to sort out the Words that were clamoring for attention in his head, the White Queen departed soundlessly from the room, leaving the two to sort themselves out.


	6. Surprises in Mamoreal

**A/N: This is the definite end to Logical Conclusions, so enjoy! The ending surprised even _me _(and threatened me with an insulin shot) so I hope that it KO's you as well. (I'm not malicious, not at all.)**

**I want to thank each and every one of you who have either followed this to the end, reviewed, favorited and alerted this story! You don't know how totally awesome you guys are! And as always to my editor/turtle, Will, and my "twin" Jess for the ideas and suggestions and work that they put into this as well. Truthfully, I wouldn't have finished if not for them. Oh! And also to Isaac, who gave me ideas I scattered throughout each chapter. (Cookie for you, Isaac, if you can find them. I scattered them quite well, but they're there, no worries.)**

**Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed the ride! Please remain seated and glued to your screen until all words come to a complete stop. Thank you, and have a nice day!**

**With love and diabetes,**

**~Leiary**

Tarrant and Alice sat, Silence between them, on the sofa. Rejection laughed at him from all corners of the room, casting a dark shroud across the bright room. Alice seemed to be oblivious to the hatter's presence, yet Tarrant was anything but oblivious to hers. Moonlight drifted lazily in from the two windows and washed her in an unearthly glow, making her seem almost ethereal. She was wearing her nightclothes; Tarrant would have supposed she had been summoned while sleeping, if not for the dark circles under her eyes that contrasted deeply with her creamy complexion. She seemed something from a story that his mother used to tell him as a child, about the beautiful yet dangerous creatures that lived in the Outlands. Beautiful she was, her golden curls falling over her shoulders and down her arched back. Dangerous as well, he mused, for she could break him—_Hasn't she already?—_as easily as a Bandersnatch could. It had been three weeks since he had seen her last and amazingly, the time apart hadn't lessened the pain that now resided within him. It seemed his entire body was aching for _something_.

Abruptly, she said, "Hello." She was still staring at her intertwined hands.

Glancing down at her, he managed a quick, "Hello," before he stared nervously back outside of the window at the large expanse of moonlight and gardens. He couldn't seem to change his Thoughts into Words. Where was the Thinking Room when you truly needed it?

Silence was prodded for a moment by the exchange, then settled back uncomfortably into the couch. It was disturbed again by Alice's next question. "How are you?" Finally looking up to his face, she reached across the short distance and placed a soft hand on his arm, warming his body. He noticed the pain was slightly abated.

"Bad," he confessed in a hoarse whisper. "Mad." He tried a small smile but it turned into a grimace. His large eyes were the blackish side of gray, swirling with brown. Alice felt this wasn't right, that it looked wrong on him. His skin was even paler than usual, and he looked as if he hadn't been eating properly. Worry creased her brow. She turned toward him on the sofa, keeping her hand on his arm. "Have you been taken care of?" she inquired softly.

"Yes."

She nodded. "Good."

He hesitated, then looked out the window again. "Alice?"

"Yes, Tarrant?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed the Words were caught. He couldn't loosen them and he frantically tried to pull them out. Suddenly he forgot completely what he was going to ask, and he found himself blurting out, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Alice smiled softly and surprised him. "There is a 'b' in both and an 'n' in neither."

Tarrant felt as if all the wind had been knocked from him. Of course! Why hadn't he seen it before? It made perfect sense. In fact, he felt as if he had lost a great weight from his body that had been holding him down. Previous dismay completely forgotton, his mind cheered, _Callou, callay!_ He felt as if he could futterwacken, and stood to do just that.

Alice gasped as the formerly morose man began the dance that signaled his unbridled joy. She marveled at his sudden change in mood, all because she answered his riddle. Smiling despite herself, she watched as he expertly manipulated his limbs in a seemingly spastic way. So exuberant was he at the end of this display that, before he could register in his mind just _what_ he was doing, he had Alice gathered in his arms and was kissing her soundly.

Alice was just as surprised as Tarrant was. She had one minute been contemplating his mood swings, and the next she found herself standing with her arms around the hatter's neck and returned his kiss. It was as if all the frustration and grief that had occurred since that night in the windmill was felt in that brief, yet so very powerful, contact.

He broke the kiss first, much to Alice's surprise. Her arms came down to wrap around his middle. He stared hard into her eyes; his own eyes were a brilliant green, mixed with a wary gray and a bit of purple. "Are you confused?" he asked suddenly.

"Y-yes," she faltered, "How did you know?"

"The kiss."

"Oh."

"What are you confused about?" he asked, stubbornly holding on to this subject.

"You," Alice sighed, giving in and leaning against his chest, feeling how utterly _right_ it was. "And where I am to go," she added.

"That one is easy," declared Tarrant. "All you must do is close your eyes, quickly turn around three times, point, and go the opposite way. As for me, I can't help you with that. I am myself, and to help you understand myself, I would have to understand myself in the first place. Myself and I don't come to terms very much, I fear."

"Of course," she muttered, and fell silent.

Nivens McTwisp, being a nervous creature of habit, chose that moment to inspect the Queen's sitting room. Seeing the two embracing, he cried out, "Good heavens!" causing them both to break away from each other quickly and with great effort, for neither had wanted to lose the moment. Pulling his watch out of the waistcoat pocket and tapping it almost compulsively, he chided, "It's terribly late! You should not be here! Shoo! Shoo!" Satisfied with his admonition, he scurried off to finish his rounds.

Tarrant smiled down at Alice and offered her his arm. Taking hold of him, they walked together from the castle to the moonlit path that would take them to where they both belonged- the windmill.

Watching them progress, Mirana smiled from her bedroom window in a tower. Not all was resolved between them, she knew, but it was certainly a most welcome start. Turning toward the blue butterfly that was rerolling the Oraculum, she sighed contentedly. "You were right, Absolem."

"Yes," he murmured in agreement. Pausing in his work, he gazed at the new illustration that was being formed at the end of the scroll: Tarrant and Alice standing together with a small, curly-haired child playing at their feet. "I usually am."


End file.
